Angel
by Vytina
Summary: Even in the darkest moment, Christine still dares to hope for the love of an angel.


**A/N: I am proud to present my first contribution to the **_**Phantom of the Opera**_** fan fiction collection. I give all fair warning that my work for this particular archive is strictly dedicated to the relationship between Erik (the Phantom) and Christine Daaé. Do not come here looking for a lot of love for the Vicomte de Changy. You have been given fair warning. Flames will not be tolerated. **

**Title: Angel**

**Summary: Even in the darkest moment, Christine still dares to hope for the love of an angel.**

**Character Pairing: Erik x Christine**

**Rating: T for mild sexual content**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or details affiliated with **_**The Phantom of the Opera**_**. All rights belong to the original creators.**

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><p>"<em>No matter how dark the moment, love and hope are always possible." <em>

_~ Author Unknown_

How had it come to this?

How had I found myself in this place with such an ultimatum placed before me—to choose my teacher over my childhood friend and fiancée, or watch Raoul's life slowly dissipate from his body at Erik's hands? How had those hands that composed exquisite music and inspired songs from the depth of my very soul become those of a murderer and madman? How could he have suddenly held me in such low regard to think I could possibly make this decision and view him the same way after it all was said and done? How—oh dear God, _how_—had it come to this?

This wasn't right…my life may not have been the stuff of dreams and fairytales, but it certainly wasn't supposed to be the consummation of a nightmare. And yet that was precisely what had happened in the last six months, ever since I accepted the kiss of a Vicomte, identified myself as his fiancée, and in the process incurred the wrath of my teacher. Yes…my teacher, my confidant and living inspiration, who had never lifted a hand to harm me, had brought a chandelier down upon my head as punishment. And even then he had refused to fully let me go, drawing me in to play the star in his own opera and once again sing for him. Perhaps I might have been more inclined and enthusiastic to perform the role had he not still been lost to his heartache and allowed it to manifest into a rage more potent and dangerous than I could have ever imagined.

I felt the tears burn across my eyes, and while I allowed a few of them to escape I would not be so generous with the others. I had to be strong now…a child could not be expected to make such a choice, and tears would only mark me as a helpless child in need of protection. Blinking away the blurred sheen that obstructed my vision, I brought my eyes to Raoul, hanging there upon the bars with both hands floundering to loosen the rope around his throat. It was a useless endeavor, and my tongue twitched slightly within my mouth to tell him so. Erik's hold was unyielding.

I then brought my eyes to Erik—my angel, my teacher…my friend. Of course, he had been my friend, the one I could run to in my most vulnerable moments and know his arms would always be open. He would hold me close and stroke away my tears, then bring me down to this place and soothe away cruel words with sweet melodies. There was no trace of the gentle teacher left in those ravaged features twisted in rage; his eyes bore into mine, dark and furious and yet still not entirely able to mask his grief. I could see how deeply my actions had betrayed him, cutting him to the core in ways I had never intended. How could I ever want to hurt him? Other than a few outbursts of his erratic temper, he had never lashed out at me and caused any injury that would spur the desire for some vicious vengeance. And even when he'd fallen victim to his anger, always he had apologized and sought forgiveness. And always I forgave him, perhaps even when it might have been the wiser choice to condemn him. But never had I wanted to hurt him…and yet here he was, hurting me far worse than I could have ever done to him.

The tears fell heavier at the very thought, and I was no longer able to restrain them. Let him see my tears, let him see my grief and try to justify his actions. If he'd ever cared for me, he should have never been able to stand the sight of my tears. Yet he stood there in place, never moving except to tighten his grip around the rope.

"You've tried my patience," he whispered with eyes flashing as he gave a deliberate jerk on the rope, making Raoul gag pitifully, "Make your _choice_."

I could feel Raoul's eyes on me, waiting almost as impatiently as Erik for the decision to be made and fates be sealed with little more than my word alone. And Erik's eyes were even more attentive, seeming to pay special attention to every glance—however fleeting or brief—that I granted to Raoul, and each moment seemed to tighten the already distorted lines of his face. In that moment, I honestly couldn't tell who he hated more…Raoul or me.

I didn't want him to hate me. Even now I wanted his approval and his praise, those kind words for which I had tirelessly strived and cherished the moment he bestowed them upon me. God help me, I wanted to see his smile and hear his voice lifted in a tender lullaby. I didn't want the infamous Phantom or a murdering Opera Ghost. I wanted Erik…I wanted my Erik! Was it so wrong to want him back, to see past the hatred of a madman just to glimpse the love of my fallen angel?

Surely it had to be a sin when he was so cruelly dangling Raoul's life before my eyes. I had to be committing some unspeakable atrocity to even spare him a thought that was not steeped in hatred and disgust when he was endangering the life of my childhood friend. Even more, I knew Raoul's life was not the first to be in his hands. Joseph Boquet and Piangi were his more recent sins, and I knew there had to be others—no doubt more than I could possibly imagine. I was nearly as guilty as him in this matter, to forgive and nearly _justify_ murder. My God, how could I be so flippant when Raoul was but a breath away from being his next victim?

And yet I almost didn't care whether Raoul lived or died—God forgive me for it, but I didn't. The only life I cared for now was Erik's. He was so close to losing himself to hatred, to this darkness with which he constantly seemed to battle and struggle against. I had brought him to this point with my ignorance, my childish fears and cowardly retreat from the arms of my fallen angel. I had allowed the darkness to penetrate him so deeply, secure itself within his heart and soul and replace the warmth and compassion that I had always known.

And yet…could I possibly save him from it? Did I have even the slightest prayer of saving Erik from himself? Or did he hate me so much that such an endeavor was nothing short of impossible?

I steeled my heart. I would _not_ believe that—I wouldn't! I could save Erik…I just _had_ to save him. This raging madman was not my Erik. _My_ Erik was still in there, tucked away inside a broken and hollow shell of a man, preferring the security and familiarity of hatred instead of daring to hope for something more…something he no doubt believed so completely out of his reach.

To think I possessed such power over one man's heart and soul was unbelievable—unimaginable, really. I certainly never had such sway over Raoul, not when I was to play the quiet and obedient wife as would be expected for a Vicomte's bride. But Erik…his every word, his every thought, and his every action was directed toward the sole purpose of making me happy, of pleasing me so greatly that I would happily remain at his side. I knew Raoul would think nothing of showering me with gifts and luxuries beyond my wildest dreams; he would have offered nothing less for his beloved bride. But Erik had never proposed the admittedly extravagant idea of marriage until tonight; his gifts had been simple in nature, the tiniest things that would seem insignificant to all others…and yet had seemed the world to me. I had treasured each and every gift he'd given me as though it was priceless—the true gifts offered by an angel. And in return, he would have asked nothing but for me to remain at his side as his muse, his companion…and the only friend he had left in this world.

I couldn't lose my angel. I just couldn't lose him now.

I let the tears fall freely now, but this time not with bitterness or loathing. This time, I let myself be the helpless child, the one who needed an angel to protect her heart and soul. My arms extended out to him with hands wide open, reaching for his love for me—that powerful yet pure and innocent emotion that I still believed to exist somewhere beneath the bitter grief and despair in his heart. I felt Raoul's eyes on me but couldn't be bothered with his questions. Erik's eyes had met mine, and that was all I cared about.

"Erik…" I whispered, shifting upon my knees without much concern for the wedding dress, "I'm afraid…I'm so afraid. Please…protect me."

I didn't dare let relief enter upon my heart yet, even as I watched Erik's eyes widen as his grip slackened upon the rope. He took a tentative step forward, doubt still wrought upon his features. I wasn't going to settle for that. I wouldn't let him doubt me now. I was not playing another role or providing some desperate distraction in order to save the Vicomte. I was calling out to _him_, not Raoul. I needed him…I needed him.

I loved him.

"_Ange_, please…" the tears were harder and thicker now as my grief finally streamed freely down my cheeks. I hated myself for doing this to him—to us. More than that, I hated myself for damaging his heart so thoroughly that he now doubted my most sincere gestures when he'd once believed my every word. "I'm afraid…I need you. Protect me, _ange_…_please_ protect me."

Moments passed without words, the only sound around us the lapping of water against the rocks and the harsh gasps of Raoul still struggling for breath. Slowly, each step as heavy as though weighed down by lead, Erik moved closer and closer to where I knelt upon the rocky shore of his home. The rope in his hands and the Vicomte at his mercy seemed utterly forgotten as I watched the dark fury in his eyes fade away, replaced by the sweet tenderness of my angel. Yet even as elation teased the back of my tongue, longing to burst forth with a cry of relief, I forced it down. I could not let myself taste hope even when it was so close to my fingertips. As sure as I lived and breathed, I would not know hope until I was back in his arms once again.

The rope slid from his fingers with a slick _hiss_, falling to the water without a second glance from those burning eyes that gazed fixated upon mine. He was so close now…so close that I could have easily reached out and brought him within my arms, but I remained in place. Always before he had come to me in time of need, and he would do so again with the same tenderness and love in his heart as before. I would break away every last remnant of his anger with nothing but tears and the soft caresses of my heart.

"Christine…" there it was, that soft lull of an angel's voice that brought my spirit soaring to the heavens. Not the furious roar of a monster or the frantic ranting of a madman, but the loving tone of my angel. I could have wept aloud from sheer joy.

The distance had been closed, leaving a few spare inches between us as he stood near the ledge where I waited. No longer was I content to wait for him to fully erase the distance between us; the fear in his eyes told me that he would probably not take such action. And somehow, it seemed more fitting that I should be the one to act first. I had been the one between us to create this horrid rift…now I would be the first to close it.

My arms moved with little grace around his neck, flinging myself against him without any concern for the complete impropriety of the situation. Tears streamed down as I felt the chill of his skin through the cotton shirt, the erratic thrum of his pulse against my temple as I laid my head near his throat. I allowed a sob to slip out, and rather than proving a harsh rasp upon my throat, it was a sheer rush of release that resonated throughout the cavern. I was in his arms again, safe and secured in his embrace.

His hands carefully set on my shoulders and drew me back. I wanted to protest and return myself to his arms, even if it meant forcing myself against him, but then I met his gaze and found a thin sheen of tears present in those beautiful eyes. I could see the grief still weighing heavily in his heart, this one horrible moment of lucidity perhaps opening his eyes to see what his demands had done to me. And I could see regret…oh, yes, _so_ much regret.

"Christine," he murmured again as both hands came to cradle my wet cheeks between cool palms, "Oh, Christine…don't cry, _petite_." His fingers brushed along the intersecting streaks of tears left on my skin, soft and tender caresses that brought even more tears from sheer relief alone. "No…no, Christine, don't cry. It's alright...it's alright."

I believed it. I believed in this one fragile moment that everything was alright, that the events of the last six months had never occurred and we could exist just as we always had. In this moment, there were no Vicomtes to interfere or ultimatums set before us…nothing to break this sweet moment of peace.

"Christine!"

I nearly jerked with the shock of hearing Raoul's voice, and it shamed me to consider the disappointment that swelled within me to realize that such an outburst meant he had managed to untangle himself from Erik's notorious lasso. Sure enough, as I dared to look over my teacher's shoulder, I saw Raoul already moving forward with determination and resolve as his only allies. Silently, I cursed him the fool for tempting Erik's wrath yet again. Perhaps if I had loved Raoul in the same regard, I would have been touched by his reckless courage. But now, I could only consider him an undesired interference. As Erik's hands left my face and he turned to face his rival once again, I was left cold and desperately longing to be in my angel's embrace once again. It could only be yet another sin to curse Raoul for stealing Erik's attention, to be so selfish and want Erik to have eyes only for me even now.

I was committing all manner of sins tonight, and perhaps all the more because I simply did not care.

"Again, you would tempt the devil in his own lair, Monsieur Vicomte," Erik spoke coldly, and even though I was blind to see his face I held no doubts of his rage resurfacing, "Have you not yet learned your lesson? Take your leave now before I reconsider my intention to kill you."

"I'm not leaving without Christine." Raoul replied with a ridiculous air of arrogance and confidence that made my blood run hot through each and every vein. "She is _my_ fiancée, and lest your madness enable you to conveniently forget that fact, allow me to further remind you that what you consider a vow of love was nothing more that what you had previously demanded of her—a lie to appease you and save me."

If my blood had previously run hot, it was now boiling and threatening to burn me alive from the inside out. I now understood some fraction of the rage that lingered within Erik's heart, but mine was not conceived of a life marred but cruelty and hatred of nothing more than a distorted face—a crude twist of Fate and Nature alike which he had no control over, and for which he had suffered unimaginable agony. I would not dare assume to know that kind of torture, but even still I knew my own kind of suffering. How long had I been subject to live as an innocent maiden, a fragile doll incapable of making her own decisions and living dependently on the courage of others? Even as I held the years of a woman, I was branded a _child_ in need of some handsome savior! God, how I hated it!

"Christine," Raoul was reaching out to me, and I half-wondered if Erik was considering breaking his arm for it, "Come with me, darling! I'll not leave you and let this monster hold you to your lies."

Lies…_lies_. Was that really what he believed? Was this how he had managed to justify placing me at the _monster_'s mercy tonight—convincing himself that my performance was nothing but another lie to _appease_ the Opera Ghost? Of course…of course it was what he believed—and what proof had I previously given him, or Erik for that matter, to think differently? I had played the meek little mouse all too well, scurrying back and forth between both men without any kind of resolve for my own desires, always too eager to run back to Raoul's eagerly awaiting arms when I tasted even a drop of Erik's passion and feared the reaction it spurred within my heart. How had I so easily allowed myself to be the helpless damsel in this story?

"Go," I found my voice even when the softest sound felt heavy upon my tongue, "Please, Raoul…just go."

If he heard me, he clearly wasn't swayed by such words. His hand found my wrist, and worse yet I found Erik had moved away from me, unnoticed when I was plagued by my thoughts. His shoulders were slumped in defeat, head held in clenched hands so as to block out every word exchanged between Raoul and me. I felt an irrepressible wave of grief crash through my senses, mingled with some anger toward my supposed fiancée. He didn't want to hear Raoul's words, and so by default he was blocking out _my_ voice as well. He had once clung to each and every word that passed my lips as though he were being serenaded by a siren, and now he couldn't even bear the thought of hearing my voice again!

"Christine, quickly." Raoul was growing more impatient as he tried to pull me away and in turn found me struggling furiously with only the goal of returning to Erik, "Christine, for God's sake, stop fighting me! Can't you see the nightmare is over? We need only escape from this damned place and we will be free. No more—"

"No more _what_?" my voice carried far more venom than I would have previously believed possible, and I held a brief but strong sense of satisfaction to see Raoul's eyes widen in shock at the furious sound emitting from my delicate little lips. Let him be stunned, surprised, and all together appalled that his perfect doll could hold such anger within her heart! "No more what, Raoul? No more lies to appease a monster? No more coerced acts of compassion and desire that can never be for a murderer? No more gestures of pity that can surely be contrived from nothing more than a naïve heart under the spell of a disfigured freak?"

"Yes, yes!" perhaps he took my words as encouragement, but he was all the more a fool to do so, "We must leave him _now_, Christine! He has already threatened our lives once tonight—we must go before he tries again!"

"Let go of me!" I ripped my arm from his grasp and stepped away before he could try and take hold again, "I told you, Raoul…leave _now_. I have made my choice, now leave me be."

"You made your choice to save _me_." He insisted, and I nearly pitied him for still clinging to such an inane lie in the face of vehemently contrasting truth.

"I made my choice earlier on that stage, when I stepped out of the role in which you forced me and back into his arms…where I belong." My tongue savored the truth of those words, and I could hardly believe I'd ever thought otherwise. "You saw it with your own eyes, Raoul…but you won't let yourself accept it. After all…how could the pretty princess choose the villain over the hero?"

"Christine—"

"But I _have_ chosen him." I said firmly, feeling my resolve strengthen by the moment as I shed every weak façade I'd ever carried in my life. Loving Erik had made me strong even if it condemned me in the same breath. Perhaps I would be destined to live my life in exile with him, never again fully able to join the civilized world. And yet, such a prospect didn't seem nearly as bleak as I might have first believed. In fact…it seemed more appealing than a life of luxury and riches beyond wildest dreams ever did.

"I have chosen him, Raoul," I repeated, "And now, for your sake…leave us and don't come back."

He stared at me for an agonizing stretch of time, and for a moment I feared he would not heed my words and try yet again to drag me from this place. But my doubts were erased as he stepped away from the bank, leaving me alone at last. Only once did he bestow a parting glance, and I could see his doubts as clear as anything. His last words were only to offer God's forgiveness for my decision, and then he was gone.

I was kneeling before Erik before another moment could pass, cupping his face in both hands to bring those eyes up and meet mine. He found my eyes bright and my lips parted in a smile, a silent gesture to speak multitudes and swear that this was not a choice made from obligation or duty, not from pity or fear. I touched his distortion freely this time, absurdly pleased when he did not protest or shrink away from my touch. His eyes only remained fixated upon my face, watching my smile and my happiness with a suspended joy, one he was not yet fully ready to embrace yet not able to dismiss. I knew the source of his shock, his confusion, and ultimately his joy. I was touching him as though he was any other man…caressing blatant distortion as though I was holding the finest treasure ever offered to me.

And I was.

I had seen his face, I knew what he was beneath that mask, and I didn't care. He was just Erik…the man who conceived music that struck me down to the very core of my being with such emotion that had never been considered feasible. I had loved him in the music so many times before. But now…now I didn't need music to love him. I saw his pains, his regrets, and his mistakes gathered together in the silent testimony of the tears slipping down his cheeks. And I loved them all. I loved _him_.

I was not entirely inclined to exchange words now, not when words had proven poisonous to our love so many times before. There would be hours, months, even years for words to have a purpose in our life and not cause pain. But now…now, everything that needed to be said didn't have to be done with words. There were so many other ways to communicate—Erik had taught me that from the first time he'd played some of his own music for me. In his music, he had spoken of his desire, his passion…and his love for me.

I dared to set my unmarked cheek against his mangled flesh, and I relished the breathless gasp he offered in response, fingers suddenly clutching me flush to his body. My lips kissed a senseless path to his ear, setting one last caress to his temple before drawing a deep breath and releasing it in melody—a lulling aria meant only for his heart to hold and cherish, to call his own without any conditions or obligations. I drew nothing from my previous lessons or rehearsals, only allowed the music to weave itself into existence with my tongue and voice as its only instruments.

I could hear his satisfaction and pride in the soft sigh that rustled against my skin. His musician fingers slowly rose to tangle within my curls, learning their texture with the simplest of gestures. The tenderness with which he held me was enough to inspire my tears once again, but I smiled in spite of them and only continued to sing of my love and desire for the angel in my arms. For the first time, I knew nothing of regret or fear, only the purest form of joy I had ever held in my heart.

His hands slid down along my cheeks with trembling fingertips, catching the last remnants of my tears before catching my face in his palms and meeting my gaze. All traces of his fear, his anger, and his heartbreak had been replaced by absolute wonder as he searched my very soul with those piercing eyes that I loved.

Our foreheads rested against each other as he brought me ever closer, and his lips set a trembling kiss to my brow. Finally, I felt his lips move to speak and I held my breath, waiting for his answer as though one word alone held my fate in its wake.

"Christine," his golden voice lifted against my skin to meet my song, never once taking his hands from my skin, "I love you…"

That was it. There was nothing else that needed to be said on his part, not after three words had promised what a thousand more couldn't have possibly hoped to do. Perhaps he had more words to say, but in this moment there was nothing else that mattered, save the vow that promised his heart and soul to me now and forever.

My fingers wove through his hair and caressed his skin, wanting to explore as much of him as physically possible. Soon enough, I knew we would learn each other's bodies and explore the depths of the desire that lay in our hearts, but for now I was simply content to let him bring me to my feet and stand before him as he clasped my hands to his chest. I closed my eyes for a brief moment, savoring the music of his heartbeat thrumming passionately against my palms. When I opened them again, I moved to draw close to his lips and set mine upon them. I never closed my eyes, preferring to let my gaze trace over each and every ravaged feature of his face and love him all the more for it.

"I love you," I whispered while closing any remaining space between our bodies, never lifting my hands from his chest, "I love you, Erik…I love you, my _ange_."

And I could see that he believed himself to be just that—an angel, even if a fallen one—as he drew me into his arms and carried me away into his room like the groom with his bride on their wedding night. I beamed at the very thought of it, taking this man as my husband and joining my future to his until my dying day. I caught his eye and smiled all the more to see my thoughts reflected in his eyes before they closed to bestow a kiss upon my lips.

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><p>The hours blurred together as I fell into his arms, learning just what it meant to step across desire's threshold and fully lose myself to its embrace. Candlelight danced across naked flesh as we moved with limbs entwined and words forgotten in a breathless symphony of pleasure. I could not fully see his face in the flickering light, but my fingers eagerly learned its every texture and found nothing less than perfection in the distortion. Every scar etched upon his face and body alike molded against my unmarked flesh as though it were nothing less than the flawless flesh of any other man. Yet he was so much more than any other man…an angel is hardly comparable to the mortals of this world, and <em>my<em> angel was so far above this society that it marveled and humbled me to think such a man would have chosen me…that he could love one as imperfect as I.

"Christine," he whispered my name with such reverence and awe that it nearly broke my heart to hear it, "My angel…how I love you. I hardly deserve such beauty and perfection as you offer me, yet I pray I will never be without it again."

I offered no words to reassure him, but sealed my vow with a kiss as I found my release. Fingers clutched at his shoulders as I wordlessly encouraged him to find his own pleasure within my body. He needed no further persuading, and I watched with rapt attention and intrigue as his body succumbed to the novel sensations with a hoarse cry that seemed just as beautiful to my ears as the softest melody.

His arms tangled around me, fitting the firm planes of his body against my curves as though we were the missing pieces to a puzzle that had been broken for far too long and was finally joined as one, never to be separated again. With the song of his heart to lull me, I slipped away into the sweet oblivion where I would sleep no other place but in the embrace of angels.


End file.
